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CHAPTER II. "Didn't I say he wouldn't come?"

"It is just upon eleven. Give even an assassin a minute's grace."

"Seriously, Hugh, if the fellow does come, I would strongly recommend you to be extremely careful what you say to him. You know the French have their own point of view; it's a very different point of view from ours. If you don't look out you may be in a mess before you know it. Your joke may turn out too much like earnest."

"As I told you, it will depend, in a measure, upon what he calls a suitable amount I can't afford to pay too much, even for murder."

"Hugh!" There was a knock at the door. "Who's that?" "It's the assassin. Enter."

The door opened. There entered—a woman. They stared. They might not have been able to say what it was that they had expected, but they bad not expected this. The woman was slightly built, of medium height She was dressed in black. She wore a veil which was so thick that it obscured her features. But one guessed, from her carriage, that she was young. The two men stood up. She remained in the doorway with the handle of the open door still in her hand.

"Monsieur Hugh Kennard?"

Certainly, the voice was a young woman's. She spoke softly and with a little tremor, as if she caught